Thanksgiving With Ginny
by Olivia Ballard
Summary: Just a thanksgiving oneshot with Baker family backstory and Bawson.


Ginny Baker was made for Thanksgiving. At least she was when she was younger. From the moment her eyes opened, everything about the day just seemed a million degrees warmer. Her mother hummed as she cooked, an apron tied around her waist and flour smudged on her cheek. And for once, her father wasn't camped out in the living room, going over old plays. Instead, he was right there in the kitchen with her, sneaking bites of sides and making her laugh.

It was the one day during the year when her parents laughed together, and Ginny couldn't help but live for the sound.

Once she was washed and dressed, she bound down the stars, just beating Will by a few steps and launching into her father's awaiting arms.

"Hey Kid," he greeted her, his voice as gruff as normal, but there was something different about it. He was happy, despite the lack of baseballs and dust in the air. "How about you get to mashing?"

"Sure, Pop," she lifted her chin, grinning as her mother pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "What are we listening to?"

"I think it's Will's turn to choose."

Ginny chomped down on her bottom lip before the moan resting on her tongue had a chance to escape. "All Will ever wants to listen to is emo garbage."

"Not true," Will growled, bumping his shoulder into hers. She reached forward and grabbed at one of the pieces of bread he would be using for the stuffing, considering it for a quick moment before lobbing it at him. "Evanescence is _not_ emo."

"Sure it is," she replied, clutching a dish rag to her chest, "for all those tortured, pathetic lost souls."

"Mom!"

"Ginny," her mother scolded, pursing her lips as she held back a smile.

"Pop?"

Ginny's father set his stirring spoon down, rolling his eyes as Ginny dodged a sprinkle of flour. "Enough, unless you want to be eating Thanksgiving dinner off the floor."

"No sir," Ginny and Will chorused, waiting for their father to turn before Ginny poked her tongue out at her brother and squealed as he jabbed his finger into her side.

"So," her mother started, beaming as her husband crowded into her space, "where did we fall on the whole apple versus pecan pie debate?"

"We had apple last year," Will reminded them, blinking as he began to peel an onion. "And Aunt Lorelei really likes pecans."

"But you promised we could try something new this year." Ginny pulled her hair back into a ponytail, taking the freshly peeled potatoes and dumping them into a pot of boiling water. "And I found this really cool recipe for pumpkin pie."

"A recipe is one thing, but it's not like we have any of the ingredients."

Ginny exchanged a sly look with her mother, thinking back to the evening before when they'd gone racing through the aisle's, searching for anything left over by all the people who had actually been prepared for Thanksgiving. "I'm sure we have something?" She offered innocently. "Can I at least try?"

Shrugging, her father brushed his hands along his pants and pulled Will into his side. "Fine, but when people start complaining about not having any dessert, don't come crying to me." He began to usher Will from the room. "Come on, Boy, let's go see about that football game."

"Which one?"

Her father's chuckle echoed throughout the room. "Any of them."

Dinner was always the same, regardless of the people who filtered in and out of their house. At seven, they would all swarm around a table that was just a little too small for all the food they had cooked, and they would list what they were thankful for. Tears would glisten in her mother's eyes as she reached first for her father's hand, and then Ginny's.

"I'm thankful everyday for my beautiful, healthy, wonderful family," she always said, choking up before she could finish and pressing a kiss to Ginny's head.

Her father always began with a firm, "I'm thankful for baseball. And these kids aren't too bad, either." Her mother would swat at him and everyone would laugh, even though they knew it was true. "I'm thankful for my wife, and this life we've made. And I'm thankful for this, for the fact that we've made it to another year and that we'll all be back here a year from now eating the food that I'm praying is edible."

"I'm thankful for cranberry sauce and stuffing," Will's grin was close-lipped, his mouth already full with sides even though they weren't supposed to eat until everyone'd had a turn.

"And I'm thankful that I have the best family in the world," Ginny finished it out, knocking her knee into Will's and trying to contain her smile. "Even if Will is a pig."

"Jerk," he murmured.

"Slob," she shot back. They could have gone all night, and there were days where they did, but one impatiently raised eyebrow from their father was enough to quiet them.

"All right," he stood, taking the sharp knife that only ever made an appearance on Thanksgiving day, and moving over to behind the turkey, "let's eat."

 ** _…_**

Ginny Baker was made for Thanksgiving. At least she was once Mike Lawson materialized in her life. After her father died, she tried to keep heading home, but it was just a little too hard being around her mother, especially with how quickly Will took to Kevin. Soon, Thanksgiving became just like any other night, her room dark as she ordered Chinese takeout and watched A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

She'd always watched it with her dad, after her mother went to bed and Will escaped to his room. She curled up against her father's side and they watched a movie that had nothing to do with her future and the game they dedicated their lives to. And it was the last bit of him she could hold onto that wasn't rooted in his dreams for her. Just a dad and his daughter laughing over stupid jokes.

Evelyn and Blip made an effort, and she appreciated it, but a tiny selfish part of her couldn't stand to be around a family that wasn't hers on the one day of the year where her family had been together and whole. She relished being alone, even if it ached at times.

So, when Mike showed up at her door the first time, it was both a relief and a burden.

"What're you doing here?" She asked, her hip pressed against the door and her head cocked to the side. "Shouldn't you be with, shoot," she snapped, "short, pretty, redhead?"

"Rachel," he nodded, letting himself in and making himself comfortable on the couch. "Yeah." He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We gave it a try, but it didn't work out the first time. We were idiots thinking it would somehow be different second time around."

Ginny walked over to him and plopped down, tucking her legs underneath her as she leaned forward. "I – "

"You finish that sentence with a 'told you so', and I won't be responsible for my actions."

"I was actually going to say I'm sorry," she smiled, ducking her head before he could catch her smile, "but I'm glad we can both acknowledge that I did say it was a bad idea."

He hummed, plucking her beef chow fun from the table. "Just shut up, Rookie, and eat."

"Aye aye, Captain."

Suddenly, Ginny had a new tradition. It wasn't pie and held hands and the family she'd loved despite their imperfections, but it was something. It was A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Mike at her side and Chinese warm on her lap. It was that as the years went by, the day started feeling warmer and warmer again, even without her father's reluctant smile and her mother's proclivity for tears.

And when Mike finally got down on one knee and slipped a ring onto her finger, she felt that same tingle of excitement. That something incredible was going to happen, that this day was just a bit more magical than the rest, and that there was no one else she would rather spend it with.

He let out a groan as she hopped up onto his stomach, his eyes springing open as she bounced.

"It's Thanksgiving," she grinned, his hands settling on her hips and making her still.

"I can read a calendar, Baker, thanks."

"Baker-Lawson," she reminded him as she dropped a quick kiss to his nose, "and you're going to have to do way better than that if you want any of what I'm cooking tonight."

"Gin, we do this every year," he moaned, shifting her off of him and sliding to the end of the bed with a wince. Even after retiring, his knees had never truly recovered from the damage he did during the game. "Every year, we pull the girls up at the asscrack of dawn, and spend the rest of the day miserable because their miserable."

"No," she pulled on one of his t-shirts, the hem swinging around her thighs, "the only one miserable is you, Old Man. Anyway, we decided that they can sleep in as long as they want but then there can't be any backchat about who sets the table."

"How diplomatic of you." He sidled up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and tugging her back into him.

She smoothed her hands along his, smiling at the glint of his wedding band. "A captain has to be." She turned, snaking her arms around his neck. "And as captain, I'm willing to make a deal."

"Oh?"

"You come downstairs and help me get the food going, and I'll find some use for that sexy nurse costume I never got to wear Halloween." She arched up to her tip toes, her mouth ghosting over the shell of his ear, and giggled at his audible swallow. "Deal?"

"You bet your ass it's a deal," he exclaimed, bending over and hoisting her over his shoulder. She clapped her hand over her mouth before she could squeal, her hair swaying as he took the stairs two at a time.

An hour later, she was elbows deep in a turkey, her forehead coated in sweat from the heat of the oven, and Mike's eyes on her back. "You know, the first Thanksgiving after my father died, I realized that my mom didn't really know how to cook. He got up really early and set everything up, but she loved it when it was just me and her in the kitchen after he and Will got bored, so he never took over. Not completely. That day, me and Will decided that we would cook everything," his hands flexed around her waist, and she smiled. "We ended with an undercooked turkey, so we just went to my aunt's house."

"We didn't do Thanksgiving at my place," he murmured, his chin propped up on her shoulder. "My mom's idea of a home cooked meal was microwavable, so I did that and she usually ended up at a bar somewhere." His lips brushed against her neck. "Somehow I like this better."

"I have no idea why," she purred, craning her neck back and fitting her mouth against his. "I love you," she breathed, resting her forehead against this.

"Back at you, Baker."

He moved back in for another kiss, only pausing at the patter of feet on their hard-wood floor. "Incoming."

"Mommy!" Kaira screeched, barreling into Ginny's leg and holding tight. "It's Thanksgiving!"

She disentangled herself from Mike, wiping her hands clean before crouching over and picking up her squirming five year old daughter. "That it is," she grinned, peppering kisses all over Kaira's face.

"Can we watch the parade, Dad?" Neema asked from her perch on Mike's back, her curls dropping onto his forehead as he swung her around the room. "Can we?"

"That's up to Mom," he said, three pairs of eyes swiveling around to watch her. Ginny took a breath, her heart swelling with more love than she thought possible, the same feeling from seven years ago when she'd first held Neema in her arms, and smiled.

"To the living room!" She cried, Kaira's answering squeak of joy like music to her ears.

"To the living room!" They all echoed back, starting the first of many Baker-Lawson Thanksgiving traditions to come.


End file.
